Charles Hinkle Bryan and Maranda Cazier Bryan Family History

Charles Hinkle Bryan and Maranda Cazier Bryan Family History

Charles Hinkle Bryan and Maranda Cazier Bryan Family History

By their son William Andrew Cazier Bryan

Edited and retyped by Carol Cazier Reynolds

Including footnotes, pictures and some punctuation (1)

Nephi, Utah February 7th 1931

To my beloved children:

Lula Bryan Call, Claud Hinkle Bryan, Olga Bryan Forrest, Bent R. Bryan, Alif R. Bryan, Helga Bryan Wilkins, Margaret Bryan Adams and Rolf Bryan, all now living.

I, your father, William A. C. Bryan, now aged 81 years and nearing my eighty-second birthday, which will be April 5th, 1931, am writing this narrative that you may know how I came to be, and know about the roads I have travelled in this progressive world of mystery.

I am the son of Charles Hinkle Bryan, who was born upon a farm bearing his name at Floyds Fork, near Louisville, Kentucky, December 14th, A. D. 1807, and his wife Maranda Cazier Bryan, who was born upon a farm near Elizabeth Town, Wood County, Virginia, December 25, 1818.

My father, Charles Hinkle Bryan, was the son of John Bryan, and his wife Elizabeth Hinkle Bryan.

My grandfather, John Bryan, was born in North Carolina, about the year 1769. He had one brother, Joseph, who was two years older than himself, and had five or six sisters; one of whom was named Rebecca who became the wife of Daniel Boone, the famous frontiersman.

My grandmother, Elizabeth Hinkle Bryan, was the daughter of Charles and Elizabeth Hinkle of North Carolina.

Grandfather John Bryan and Grandmother Elizabeth Hinkle Bryan had children as follows:

Elizabeth, born in 1798; Joseph, born Nov. 30th, 1800; Alice, born Feb. 13, 1805; Charles Hinkle (my father), born Dec. 14, 1807; John, born Dec 4th, 1810.

Elizabeth and Joseph were born at Bryan Station; all of the other children were born at Bryan’s Farm, in Jefferson County, now Oldham County, Kentucky.

I have never been very interested in genealogy, and therefore made little effort to trace my ancestry. After I have written this narrative, if I ever have time, I may try to find out where more of us came from and where we have scattered about.

My mother, Maranda Cazier Bryan, was the daughter of William Cazier and his wife Pleasant Drake Cazier.

My grandfather, William Cazier, was the son of James Cazier and wife Betsy Cazier. He was born in Prince William County, Virginia, January 21, 1794. He died at Nephi, Utah.

Grandfather William Cazier and his wife Pleasant Drake Cazier had children as follows:

James Cazier, born at Wood County, Virginia, Feb. 18, 1817

Maranda Cazier (my mother) born at Elizabeth Town, Wood County, Virginia,

Dec. 25, 1818

John Cazier, born at Wood County, Virginia, March 14, 1821

Benjamin Cazier, born at Oldham County, Kentucky, Jan. 4, 1824

William Cazier, born at Oldham County, Kentucky, April 29, 1826, and died

September 30, 1835

Elizabeth Cazier, born at Oldham County, Kentucky, February 1, 1829

Samuel Cazier, born at Oldham County, Kentucky, August 14, 1831

David C. Cazier, born at Oldham County, Kentucky, May 1, 1834

Charles D. Cazier, born at Oldham County, Kentucky, January 21, 1837

Rosannah Cazier, born at Oldham County, Kentucky, August 26, 1840

I am, and shall forever be, indebted and grateful to my earthly father and mother for the nucleus of my body; it was strands of their love-harmony, and drops of genius from the two, twined for my being.

And I am likewise indebted and grateful to the Master of Life, who directed or permitted this spirit mind, intelligence, reasoning and conscience of mine to take possession of that nucleus and form of it a material garb sufficiently responsive and translucent for the sparkle of the Divine always to be seen ahead.

We may have many brothers, sisters and friends, but we can have only one father and one mother whose material life garbs are interwoven into ours, and we cannot, if we would, escape that handiwork; and the threads of that love nucleus between father and mother must form the warp and woof of the material habiliments our spirit souls are wearing.

I often have bodily desires with which my spirit mind, reasoning and conscience disagree, and when I am enabled to make my feet go along the path alight by reason and conscience, I am grateful, and am convinced that my body came from an ancestry I ought not disgrace; and that path alight has kept me out of a lot of trouble, and has provided me with rivers of consolation and joy.

My revered father and mother had a goodly portion of intelligence and of adaptability to meet all conditions and surprizes [sic] in life, viewing them as being in the necessary curriculum of this kindergarten school of life; and they could handle, use, make useful, and enjoy everything mortal beings find in nature’s fields, groves, planes [sic] and deserts [sic].

They were never tired of life, nor despondent, but could always see bright gleams of the morrow through the twilight of every day, and their offspring has inherited that wonderful gift, to appreciate, use and enjoy the fruits within reach, by them little or much, and to behold views of enchantment on the road ahead.

To write this narrative, I dip my pen in the conscience of my heart for memory and for the spirit of truth, that I may see clearly and be enabled to write into your understanding and the understanding of all who may read these lines the facts and circumstances I would have you and them see, know, and above all, appreciate; for our joys are enhanced only by the things we appreciate.

Our language is of material origin; it is composed of sounds, signs and gestures we have learned to make and use in the endeavor to impart to others what we would have them know. We often perceive glows of beauty, power and wisdom that our tongues, signs and gestures are unable to express to the understanding of others. The inventor and discoverer has his visions and follows his path of inspiration until he reaches his goal, of the invention or discovery, we comprehend the subject by its name, but we are always seeing ahead, and ever dipping our fingers into elements for which mortals have not yet found names.

Sometimes, we ponder upon the vastness of creation and begin to feel trivial, a sweep of the infinite takes us from the depths of insignificance and carried us out into the great universal immensity and makes us a part of it; in comfort, at home; we do not know how nor by what means this wonderful change has been consummate; we cannot give it a name; it is beyond our finite comprehension; its expression can only be uttered by a language we have not yet learned.

So, as I write, endeavoring to pen the pictures I would have you see, I pray that the spirit which moves my pen may touch the visions of your minds that you may see, feel and comprehend with me.

Lovely mother received little schooling, but by reading and by looking into human hearts she acquired a vast amount of the learning that diffused itself into happy homes and busy communities.

Father was educated at Louisville, Kentucky, where he studied medicine and surgery, though he afterwards served an apprenticeship and became a tanner, neither of which callings did he follow until after he had well learned the use of the rifle, ax, and plow, midst the forest and prairie lands of Kentucky and Illinois; and by those great schools of learning Providence seems to have fitted him to be of great and needed use to his fellow men and red men in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains.

We do not much comprehend the mystic calls that pull, nor the mystic prods that push us along the life road, but when those calls and prods come, we often step into the line of their urge and move, defying all reasoning and judgment. We plan for tomorrow but often the hands of the next dawn push or pull us where we have not planned to go; blessed are those who can step to any music, smile and tidy up for the next call.

Father’s parents and people were slave holders and sincerely believed the white race to be divinely born and destined to care for and lead the colored race; and that solemn pious disposition was transmitted to their son - this writer - and I cannot yet reason away the lingering will to walk before the colored man, and expect respectful deference from him.

Father’s parents both died while he was a child; his father first, when he was only seven, and his mother when he was fourteen, and he was reared by his grandmother, Elizabeth Hinkle, formerly of North Carolina, and he was nursed and cared for, as was the fashion in those days, by his colored mammy Jinny, who gave to him the best that could come from darksome blood; and her motherly care and affectionately uttered “Marsa Charles” and her honest smile, veiled her ebon-like face in glory of love and goodness, that father always expressed as angelic.

Father loved horses and fox hounds, and fox and deer hunting, and horse racing, and he had a wonderful kindness in his heart for colored jockeys, hostlers, dancers and cooks.

He often told me about the real live times he and his young friends had in their camping in the forests with their horses, hounds and *******, while hunting fox, deer and bear.

In those days, in making up a camping out outfit, one might dispense with many articles of utility, but the little oak keg with its Kentucky freshness was not one of them; and with that in sight for a charm the colored hostlers, cooks and dancers could perform miracles; and even Marsa Charles and his white men friend were known to “tap the horn” between times; and their eyes sparkled and they laughed when “Candy Bob”, their favorite colored dancer would say, “Yes, Marsa Charles, I be ‘shore’ glad for to dance, but I can dance mo fluent ef I has a leetle drachm afotime”; and “Candy Bob” tipped the horn upside down, rolled his eyes lavishly, patted his chest in satisfaction, wreathed his red lips away from their ivory, uttered “ya-ya” from organ-like depths, clapped his hands, and as though timed by the muses, pattered his big-shoe feet to the rhythm of the fiddle, banjo and bones.

It was quite usual and customary too for friends to go to the “Coffee House” and “take a horn” together; but when I was a boy a way out in the Rocky Mountain West where ******* were rare curiosities and “horns” and “Coffee Shops” near legendary, I wondered what a Coffee House was, and what kind of a “horn” Father and his young friends took together, and what the “horn” was for, until Father laughingly “wised me up”.

I think, if we now had the “horn”, we would call it the Cornucopia. (Legal prohibition is an attempted enforcement just now.)

I am not averse to, but pleased to think of the sociable “horns” that brought comradeship to my splendid father and his young friends who all became noted and useful safeguards among the best of men.

Twenty years after the Civil War had set “Candy Bob” free, I visited Louisville and the old Bryan homestead on Floyd’s Fork, a few miles out from that city; there where Father was born and grew up to manhood in the happy days of old Kentucky before the Civil War, when the colored people hoed the cotton, cane, tobacco and corn, and cultivated watermelons for fun, and in the evening gathered in the cabins to sing the old-time soul melodies that none have yet equalled for human ears. I could vision my father listening to “Down in the Corn Fields”, “My Old Kentucky Home”, “Old Black Joe”, “My Dark Virginia Bride”, and “Nelly Grey”, in pleasant, solemn thought, and could hear father laugh when some ****** thrummed his banjo and “chipped in” with “A way down south on Beaver Creek, where the ******* grow about ten feet”, and I could see his eyes sparkle when the colored boys and girls swayed their lithe bodies and shook their nimble feet in their dancing; and I could see him and his young friends with their horses and hounds chasing fox over the blue grass sward, rolling hills and through the forests, and see them dodging under the wild grape vines reaching like swings between the trees as their Kentucky racers swept through the woods like darting phantoms; and I could hear the hounds bay while following the scent, and hear their short yelp as they pounced upon their prey; and I could see the delighted ******* following the chase, and at the finish catering about in cooling off the horses, sponging their mouths, cleaning their bodies and bathing their clean-cut limbs, as they exchanged versions of the champion master, horse and hounds.

Candy Bob was with me that day, showing me about, and telling me in mirth and sorrow of the days when he was a boy and drove the “hansom” for Father; he said, “One day, Marsa William, I was sittin’ in de hansom where I belonged, watchin’ de wheels go roun’ as we wuz jus’ joggin’ long; I wuz mighty quick a movin’ an’ I got to pokin’ my hart ‘tween de spokes and jerkin’ it back afo’ de spokes cud hit it; and jus’ thot I cud poke my foot ‘tween dem spokes an’ get it back afo’ any spoke cud hit it; fru my foot went ‘tween dem spokes, but was too long to get back and hung in de wheel and my laig go broke, and Marsa Charles, he say, ‘Candy Bob, what for am you so foolish? Doan you see day your foot am longer dan dem spokes?’ and den he put me in de hansom and took me back to de manshun where he cud fix my laig, and he fixed dat laig, and made it a better laig dan de oder laig which wuzzent broke, and he wuz so good to me while I wuz hobblin’ roun’ on sticks dat I had a noshun to break de oder laig and get him to fix dat too.” “Oh, Marsa William, ef I only cud have Marsa Charles back fo’ to tell me what fo’ to do, I shor wud be comfitable,” and his voice trembled with emotion as he continued, “I has neva been happy since de wah; I has neva had anybody like Marsa Charles for to put his han’ on my sholdah and say, ‘Candy Bob, you is a good ******; wid you hans, you can make de hoses shine and go like de win; and wid you feet yo can put laf in de banjo and fiddle.’”

And then Candy Bob said, “Marsa WIlliam, Marsa Charles always liked fo’ to see me dance, and I wants yo fo’ to see me dance afo’ you goes away cos dese long laigs and feet know how to coax de music yait, and dey wants fo’ to show yo’ how ‘day can do it.” And that evening I visited with Candy Bob and his friends, and while real ******* fingers chuckled the bones and trembled over the strings of the banjo and fiddle wonderful dance music that flows only from the colored man’s soul, Candy Bob let his big honest heart beat memory of the good old days “afo’ de wah”, and I have never seen more lithe, graceful, rhythmic movement of body, limbs and feet than were there exhibited by him; and the expression of gleeful happiness upon his glossy face, accentuated by his voluptuous red lips, parted by their rows of ivory, was absolutely entrancing; and when Candy Bob made his final delicate flourish, as if dropping golden glitter upon the wings of a butterfly, I was in such a state of musical enthralment and dance esthetic, that I dropped into that wonderful flourish, and wove butterfly fusions with my feet until Candy Bob rushed over to me and took me in his arms and ran around the hall with me, and the ******* nearly tore my arms off shaking hands with me; and then Candy Bob said, “Marsa William, yo shore am de son of Marsa Charles, yo shor am fine; all yo lacks an de culuh.”

And taking Bob’s hand in mine, with a glow that wells up out of that fountain of unadorned friendship, we seldom reach, I said, “If Marsa William goes to Heaven, and reaches there and has a place set apart for him before his friend Candy Bob arrives, he will leave the latch string outside, tagged, ‘This string is for Candy Bob to pull’, and when you pull that string, the door will open, and before you will stand your dear old mother, Manny Jinny, and Marsa Charles will be there ready to march you against any colored dancer in Heaven, to dance to any music that can come from the fiddle, banjo and bones.”

But to be real honest, I confess that I have not yet grown away from the tradition of my people in the belief that the white race is destined by Providence to care for, lead and direct the colored race; and though my heart beats the warmest friendship, I am palsied when social equality is mentioned, except upon the ground of world friendship, with oceans of race distinction between; not the distinction of enmity, nor of jealousy, nor the least unkindness, but the Divine distinction that comes with birth, and will keep the races clean in the respective inheritances of that anatomical complex that made and keeps the white race white, and made and keeps the colored race colored; the Deity gave that complex to each, let it be and remain sacred to both.

Our knowledge as t the origin of the different human races is so limited and our knowledge of the source of life and intelligence so much less that we have no ground upon which to stand for criticism of what the Great master of our source of life and intelligence has done; and it would seem that all we have a right to do is to make the best of what we are and of what we may become by reaching out and utilizing the best we can extract from nature’s products; and fair reason would suggest that each race should, upon its own capital, do that without interference, or cross blending with another.

I do not know what romance may have taken place between Father and his first wife, Jane Collins Snyder (who was the daughter of Henry Snyder, who was born in “Old Virginia” about the year 1783, and his wife Mary Eddings), but Father often talked to me about her and he said she was a very beautiful, talented lady whose hair was auburn and her eyes large and brown.

Father and Miss Snyder were married by William Allen, a Baptist minister, September 15, 1831, at Oldham County, Kentucky, and soon thereafter moved to Decatur, Macon County, Illinois, where on December 4, 1834, there was born to them a son whom they named John Henry. When he was about five years old, his mother died at Decatur.

After she had gone, Father and his little son John Henry became restless and went about the country, just to be doing something and seeing things. They did all of their travelling on horseback. Father always took brother John with him. Father was a real horseman, and I believe he came as nearly talking the horse language as any man since the mystic barrier of speech has existed between man and best. When he looked at a horse and shook his head, he and that horse parted at once and forever. If he stepped in front of a horse, looked in its face, put his hand on its nose, raised its lip up and gave the horse a push, he was through with that horse also. If, after looking into the eyes of a horse, and examining its mouth, his eyes sparkled as he walked around the horse, looked over its loin, back and limbs, picked up its feet, smoothed the hair about the fetlocks, stroked its gambrels, examined its nostrils, ears and teeth, smoothed its nose with his left hand while he patted the opposite jowl with his right hand, he was talking to that horse, and they were friends on the spot; that horse was his servant and there were no combs or brushes too fine, nor any stall, pasture or oats to nice for that servant.

Father and his little son were welcome everywhere about Illinois. At that time I visited the old Kentucky homestead, I came back through Illinois and visited a number of my relatives, and some of my father’s old friends. That was in October and November 1886; you will find the names of those people in my little memorandum book which I made notes in on that trip.

On November 8, 1886, I visited with Governor Oglesby at his residence in Springfield, Illinois, made myself known to him as the son of Charles H. Bryan and asked him if he remembered my father and mother; he replied, “Yes, I knew them both very well; your father was one of the cleverest men that ever lived; he was a very popular man about Decatur before he joined the Mormons and went west, and your mother was a clever woman; she is about my age.” The Governor spent most of the day with me in showing me the Capitol of Illinois, introducing me to the State Officials and to the business men and city officials of Springfield, and then taking me back to his residence and introducing me to his beautiful wife;(2) the two were real people with the best essence of humanity beaming from their faces and vibrating friendship in the clasp of their hands.(3)

At the time I was speaking of, in 1840-1841, when Father and brother John were just riding about to see what they could see, father used three saddle bred and gated mares, named respectively Frakes, Sunday and Bundles.

Frakes was a Thoroughbred whose feet loved to fan the blue-grass trails and to show her stride measure a half, three-quarters, or a full mile with kings and queens of the turf; she was dark bay with black points, clean-cut head, full expressive eyes, with breadth between them, and nostrils that showed the pink of life and exhilarated service from the time the saddle touched her muscular back until the last stroke of kindness from the hand of her groom in her bedroom stall at night.

Father and Frakes were friends and companions; they loved and understood each other, end even when no words were spoken by father, there was a charm language of understanding between them.

Frakes moved easily, always keyed to touch off the springs in her cushioned feet. She was straight gated, gliding from a running walk into a smooth easy gallop, and eagerly ready to extend the length of her stride upon consent of her rider.

Sunday was from the same Thoroughbred sire as Frakes, but from a pacing dam. She was also dark bay with black points and so nearly like Frakes that as they stood in the stall, strangers could seldom distinguish one from the other. She was steady on her feet, a little slow to begin her work, but would measure the ground rapidly with little urging. She was a true single-foot stepper that seemed to lightly touch the ground with roller-bearing feet and to gleefully patter along just for fun, expecting her rider to press the rein for guide.

Brother John claimed ownership of Sunday, and she seemed to understand the relationship, like a faithful dog, wanting her master about, and she would neigh for him when absent.

Bundles was, in color, black; she was a god, sound saddle animal, trustworthy, and would, without rein or tie, follow close in the trail of Frakes and Sunday. Father and brother John gave her the name of Bundles as she was their pack animal and carried everything they made use of as they travelled [sic] about.

And so, on a bright Spring morning in the year 1840, the five, Father, brother John, Frakes, Sunday and Bundles, each being in proper trim and mood for moving, and being fully and comfortably equipped, bid adieu to Decatur.

They had no particular destiny in view, but there was an urge in their souls that pushed them away from the present, and pulled them out into the woods and prairies and along the streams of water, and gave them visions of woodland groves, streams, ponds and lakes of water, homestead cabins, sparkling campfires, prairie lands, wild game and nature wilds of enchantment.

Father was a good swimmer, and he knew the ways of fish in the waters and of game in the woods and prairies; and with his rifle he could, offhand, put a ball through the head of a squirrel, pigeon, quail or turkey at any reasonable distance, or bring down a deer on the run.

As they moved along inhaling the springtime atmosphere, viewing the freshening buds on the trees and shrubs by the wayside, the horses increased their speed, Frakes and Bundles to a canter, and Sunday rolling her easy single-foot by the side of Frakes as she twitched at her bridle bit and occasionally pushed her nose out. Father sat lightly in the saddle with an expression of merriment on his face, speaking in low mellowed tones to Frakes, when John said, “Father, I wish you would tell me what you are thinking about; I think Frakes knows for I can see by the way she puts her nose out and nods her head that she is coaxing you for something; is that the way she talks to you?” Father answered, “That is the way she tells me that she wants to go faster. She may know what I was thinking about, for I was thinking about the race meeting at Springfield last fall when she and I had good times. She is a knowing creature, and though she does not speak the words we use, she always feels the spirit I am in; it seems to go down the reins, or go from my touch, of in the tone of my voice, or from my movements, and she always knows when I am thinking about her. Right now, she no doubt remembers that we came along this road from Springfield last fall when the corn was ripe and oats in the bundle, and she remembers the fine splendid horses she met on the roads and on the racetrack. We are nearing the Pierce farm where, last fall, we stayed a few days with my old friend Doctor Pierce, and Frakes liked the place and the people, and while there learned so much about the gates and doors that I had to lock her in a box stall to keep her from turning loose all the stock about the place. If Frakes has memory and can think when we reach the Pierce farm you will see her go up to the gate, lift the latch and, with her nose, push the gate open and walk in, as if she owned the farm, and she will walk up on in to the open way of the barn, stop for us to unsaddle, then walk out into the yard, roll over and over, get up, shake herself vigorously and walk back to me to be brushed off, and then she will go into the stall she occupied last fall and nod her head up and down, as if to say ‘thank you’. Frakes knows how to open unlocked gates, and if she can reach the latch or other fastening with her lips she will open the door or gate very readily.”

“Here we are, and here come the dogs; watch them run about Frakes and twist about between her legs; and she and the dogs know one another. She would not kick or step on any of them that meet her kindly, but you watch her, if any of them snap at her, and just see that snapper go over the rails.”

Father gave Frakes the reins and sat quietly in the saddle while the dogs rushed under the gate and ran about wagging their tails and standing on their hind feet as they pawed about Frakes, and in good welcome patted father’s feet in the stirrups. Frakes waited, putting her nose down among the dogs, and finding welcome among them, she stepped up to the gate, lifted the latch on the outside, pushed the gate wide open, and went through the performance Father had foretold.

This pleased brother John amazingly, especially to see Frakes rolling over and over in the clean straw, and then jump up, shake herself, go jumping, kicking and rearing about the yard, then race into the barn and stop near father and rub her face against him, as if to say, “Go ahead with the brush.” Father took the horse sponge and carefully wiped her face, eyes, nostrils and lips, dried them with a towel, brushed her body and limbs, being especially careful about cleaning her fetlocks and hooking the dirt out of her feet.

Franks knew when father was satisfied with her superb body as she walked away in her shinning mahogany coat, put her lips to the latch of her stall, opened it, walked in and gave her nods of thanks to Father.

Brother John was concerned to know why Sunday and Bundles stayed out in the yard rolling and playing about and did not come to be cleaned and brushed as did Frakes, and he was not quite content until Father explained to him that he had, by kindness, urging and persuasion, taught Frakes the ways horses should learn to be companionable with their masters. Father said that he did not teach her how to open gates; that she just happened to learn by fumbling about the fastenings of gates with her lips; and now she knows that by tripping the latch with her lips, the gate will open and , when she comes up to a gate where she can get at the latch, she will keep playing with it until she discovers how the fastening operates, and after she once finds and operates that fastening, she will take possession of the place beyond.

Upon the barking of the dogs, Mr. Pierce came out from his residence and welcomed Father and brother John with their horses, and said, “Friend Charley, I am mighty glad you have come to see me; come right into the house and take possession of what you please; the hostler will care for your horses; I am glad to see this little man of yours, and we are going to begin having good times right now; but say, I see you have Frakes with you, and I know you will not let my hostler touch her; so proceed with your circus while the little man and I look on, and when Frakes is all smoothed over and locked in her stall, we will step into the house and let the hostler attend to the other two animals. By the way, I noticed that the animal the boy rides is very much like Frakes, in fact I do not believe, as they stand in the stall, strangers could distinguish one from the other.” Father replied, “This mare which son John rides we call Sunday; she is from the same Thoroughbred sire as Frakes, but from a pacing dam, and that accounts for her single-foot stepping. She is almost as fleet as Frakes up to a quarter or a half mile, and is as steady as a clock and absolutely honest and dependable to do her work.”

That night the two friends talked about the race meeting soon to take place at Springfield, and concluded that they would be there with Frakes and Sunday, look the track horses over, and have their share of the fun to be passed around.

I know, ordinarily, of all animals, the dog is most trusted by his master, but neither Father nor I could ever make friends with dogs, but we have both lived in the hearts of horses. I do not know how it is, nor how one can come to an understanding with a horse, but when I put my hands on a horse and carefully look him over, there comes an unspoken language that mingles between us, and that speaks his temperment [sic] to me, and I know exactly what I can do with him and whether he will do my bidding.

I have trusted horses and never had betrayal. I have, for hours, left them bridled and under saddle, otherwise unfettered, absolutely free in lonely places, and have gone in the mountains, miles away from them, and always knew that my horse would wait for me and be on the spot where I trusted him to stay. My stallion, Platt Allen, sired by the famous Ethan Allen, dam Bell Platt, by Little Arthur, was as trustworthy as his master; under the saddle he was a single-footer and would skim his fancy pita-pat roll at a three minute gate as long as one wanted to go, and when his rider said, “Ho, Platt”, he would, without appreciable change of motion, drop into a quick majestic walk, that deserved thanks from his rider.

In color, he was a dapple, golden mahogany sorrel, long flaxen mane and tail; a white strip down the face and his left hind foot was white. His nose was slightly roman, jowl prominent, and the finest pair of eyes a horseman ever studied. I used to talk to him and watch his liquid brown eyes sparkle, and note the sensitive movement of his ears while he listened. In the harness he was a square sweeping trotter, a powerful vigorous graceful mover, always eager to test the reins and the strength of his driver.

I often fancied that he was somewhat vain of his kingly ancestry, and desired to show that man was his master only by divine decree, for where the road was clear and good, he would sometimes tire me out in endeavoring to handle him by the bit; but if I transferred the reins to wife or one of the children he would at once become amenable to their delicate hands; but he never attempted to speed where there was any danger, either of road or other company. He knew his rights as well as his duties.

I have surmised and am surmising that by divine decree and for a divine purpose, there is held between man and all other living creatures, a screen of obscurity through which mind mingling is, and will continue to be, separately sifted until the Master of Life shall close the meshes and permit intelligent, companionable mind mingling and thoughts to pass over the screen together.

I have often anticipated the transparency of that screen when my horse has exhibited great fondness for me, which has been upon hundreds of occasions. I remember one dark night, about twelve o’clock, I visited my young three year old stallion, Romeo, a Standard Bred, a fussy little fellow, as quick as a cat, as nimble as a monkey, and as black and shiny as one can think. He was in a box stall 12 feet square; the door opened outward, and being busy minded with horse thoughts, and without speaking, as horseman should always do in approaching his horse, I opened the door outward and attempted to step into the stall, but stepped against Romeo and fell on his body as he was lying with his back against the door. He sprang up like the uncoiling of a bundle of steeled muscles as I yelled, “Romeo,” and by the force of that bound threw me with great force against the opposite wall of the stall. I was stunned and when my reasoning came, I found that little fussy fellow standing by me and fondling me with his nose, gently pushing and trying to aid me to me feet; and when I staggered up and began talking to him, he put his face by mine and made that funny little affectionate noise that a dam makes when she is concerned about her young offspring; and he was so concerned about me that I had difficulty in getting away from him as I gently closed the stall door, pushed his head from over my shoulder and said, “Good night, baby boy. At the next midnight visit I make you, I will say ‘hello, Romeo’, before opening the door.”

I have owned and been remarkably companionable with many wonderful horse, and with one very, very extraordinary mule I called TOM. You will want to sit on their cushioned backs and ply the reins of their bridles as I tell of them later on.

What I have last written was somewhat diverged and ahead of time in my narrative, just a few memories of the past floated between my typewriting fingers; now we will go back to Father, brother John, Dr. Pierce, and to our Frakes, Sunday and Bundles.

Leaving brother John, with the home folks of Dr. Pierce, Father and the doctor rode Frakes and Sunday over to Springfield where they engaged rooms at the Tavern three days before the opening of the races, and placed their horses in safe keeping.

Father delighted in the exhibition of fine horses and horsemanship, and in horse racing; but he restrained himself from becoming a professional horse racer, though he often won, and seldom lost a few dollars on the horse of his choice. He was known to be almost uncanny in his judgment of the powers, ways, dispositions and abilities of that most useful servant of man; and when he turned his twinkling steel-blue eyes on a man, he passed his judgment on him too; and it was more than reasonably safe to heed that judgment, both as to the horse and the man.

Malice had no place in his heart, but he would play a joke on a man and “get even with him” for unfair or “smart treatment”; and so at this time he brought Frakes and Sunday to Springfield in order to “get even” with one Geddings, who had, the year before, stolen Frakes out of her stall and tried her speed one night, and the next day saved money by his experiment.

Geddings was a loud mouthed horse racer. He was usually successful with his bets, for the reason of his evesdropping way of making safe, if possible, before the money left his pocket. He was always on good terms with the jockeys who didn’t know him, and with those who did know him and who would take a division of the winning.

Father lodged Sunday in a safe, guarded stall in the city, and took Frakes out to the track stall the second day before the races. His jockey exercised and groomed her, and gave her a few speed spurts for show as Geddings appeared in his usual way for gathering information, and Father loitered about with his dangerous eye twinkle in apparent unconcern.

Geddings had several good horses on the track, and from his movements, Father satisfied that he (Geddings) was planning to steal Frakes out again and to test her powers in company with the best of his horses; and that was exactly what Father desired and planned to meet the designer half way.

As I have above mentioned, rakes and Sunday were almost counterparts in appearance. Geddings had never seen Sunday, and the night before the races, Father had his jockey spy on Geddings, and at a discreet [sic] time, exchange Sunday for Frakes in the track stall. About ten o’clock that night, Geddings approached the jockey, and for a dollar was, without objection, permitted to lead Sunday, thinking he was leading Frakes away.

After the trial of speed, Geddings brought Sunday back to the jockey and said, “Keep this quiet, and tomorrow night I will give you fifty dollars.” And the jockey said, “Yes, sure Mars Geddings, ah knows what I is doin.”

After Geddings had gone, Frakes was brought back and put in her track stall and Sunday was taken back to her stall up town; and both of those queens of the blue-grass turf were lovingly talked to by their colored jockeys and smoothered [sic] over and made ready for sleep, and for show and go in the morning.

Geddings was a real sport in his class, a winning or a loss to him was simply a flit of chance. “Heads I win, tails I lose.” In investing in a horse race upon his judgment, he was cautious and made the stakes small, but when he had made a nigh test of horse speed, and made friends with the jockey rider, he would make the stakes to the limit of his purse. At the night trial this time, he was sure that he was testing the speed of Frakes as his own horse pushed Sunday to the quarter, and moved to leave daylight between them at the half mile; and at the race next morning he was jubilant over his sure winning on “dead square speed” as Frakes, in her own magic way, kept her springs coiled to plunge when the starter should say “GO!”, and his own horse danced and plunged about endeavoring to be first over the line.

That was a jolly day for Father and Dr. Pierce when Geddings made his usual noise, and believing that he had a sure thing, put up two thousand dollars against Frakes on the half mile dash. He had no idea that the horses had been changed on him, and that Dr. Pierce had viewed the trials of speed between Sunday and the Geddings horse the night before.

At the finish of the race, and after the stake-holders had handed the money over to the winners, Geddings was wondering how he Bran mare had developed such unlooked for speed, when he saw Dr. Pierce riding Sunday. He looked a the mare in a puzzled way, walked around her, noticed her teeter as she slowly moved about, and then walked over to Father and said, “Say Charley, our colored jockey fooled me last night. You played a great joke on me. It was dark and I only saw the horses running at the outcome, and the two mares are so much alike that I’ll be damned if I had the slightest suspicion of the change on me until I saw that pretty single-footer under Dr. Pierce. I give it up, it served me right; you beat me at my own game, put her there.” (holding out his hand),and he they shook hands and parted in the good old style of sportsmen.

Father would not originate that kind of a joke, but we would “lay for the fellow” who did, and he would take real comfort in telling the joke in his inimitable way by a hesitant punctuation at the climax that stayed one’s breath for a moment, and then turned on the mirth, but left his eyes seriously twinkling as he viewed the target.

The next few days after the races it cost Geddings considerable at the Tavern bar to keep its attendants from talking about a professional horse race man who could not tell a single-footer from a thoroughbred; and when he began being reluctant about calling the boys up to take a dram, someone would call out or the “single-footer”, and so , in that locality, the race man Geddings disappeared and was commonly called “Single-Footer”.

Father did not introduce nor suggest the nick-name, it came spontaneously from Sunday as she attracted attention by her grace of single-foot under Dr. Pierce as he moved her about the finish of the race, and the crowd saw Sunday and Frakes together, so alike when standing, and so unlike in their manner of movement; and Frakes’ jockey divulged the joke of changing the mares for trial by Geddings the precious night, then the boys “whooped it up”, and Geddings could never, if he tried, which he did no, to shake off the label.

Geddings had an unusual manner of walk. He was always in a hurry and when tettering about as if just ready to run, and while [the] track knew, other people attributed his nickname to the teeter in his walk, and in time he became pleased for folks to greet him with, “Hello, Single-Foot”; it seemed familiar and friendly.

After visiting at Springfield a few days, Father and Dr. Pierce rode back to the Pierce farm. As they approached, the found brother John sitting on the gate post watching and waiting for them. Frakes, as if proud to show her ability, lifted the gate latch with her lips, pushed the gate open with her nose up for brother John to stroke, and stopped for her master to mount her behind Dr. Pierce who exclaimed that he would go to the barn to see the circus.

Brother John was only seven, but he could sit on Sunday as if he were a part of her, and could cleverly handle the little rifle Father had purchased for him, and he could swim and dive with the ducks. He was a great comfort to father, and they loved each other as if his dear mother had bound their hearts together by strands of bliss. He was a handsome boy, the image of his mother, with auburn hair and brown eyes.

While he and Father were riding about looking over the virgin country, sometimes camping out in the woods, and sometimes hunting and fishing according to their fancy during the years 1840 and 1841, they chanced to discover a spot of ground that looked like home to them; the south part of the tract, as level as a floor, was covered with prairie grass, and the north part was covered by a fine forest of oak, hickory and walnut, with beech spattered about and fringes of sumac to brighten the forest show at frost-time.

There was a small mound, or prominence consisting of probably two acres near the south border of the tract, and out of the top of this mound a spring of cool, clear water pushed its way as if to have merriment in running down the hill to join a brook and pass on to be hidden in the forest just ahead.

One day Father and brother John camped at this spring, tethered their horses and, with their guns in hand, followed the springlet until the reached near the timber line, when Father signalled [sic] for pause and silence, and taking from his hunting jacket pocket a hollow bone about six inches long, put it to his lips and produced the sound of a turkey gobble; then for a few moments all was quiet, when, listening intently, they heard, nearby in the woods, the gobble of wild turkeys and the rubbing of their sturdy wings; then, hardly touching the ground, the two moved softly forward a few paces when Father used the turkey bone again. They were then kneeling under a large oak whose boughs screened them from observance, and as the bone ceased its gobble, they viewed through the leafy screen five brown turkey gobblers not more than forty yards distant, all alert, listening for the newcomer they thought was approaching. Father whispered to brother John, “You shoot that large one just making ready to fly,” and both guns were fired; the large gobbler jumped up, fluttered about, tearing the ground with its strong legs and wings, then fell over and after a few convulsive movements, stretched out lifeless. Brother John was so excited he hardly knew whether he had the turkey, or the turkey had him. When the bird was examined, the two bullets were found to have pierced the creature, one through the neck just below the base of the brain, and the other in the breast; Father granted that the turkey belonged to brother John; and then the two wondered what they could do with so large a bird, when brother John remarked that on their way to the spring, not far back, they had passed a few houses, one of which had a black horse painted on a sign at the front, and the word “TAVERN” in letters below the horse, and he said to Father, “Let’s go back there and stay tonight and have a turkey dinner tomorrow.” There was agreement at once, and the two, with their horses, were soon in front of the Black Horse Tavern.

Brother John was proud of his ownership of the turkey, and Father let him make arrangements with the Tavern. Riding up to the front stile, they dismounted, dropped the bridle reins over the hitching posts and were waiting for the dogs to stop barking when a young lady (4) on a fine young mare rode up, alighted from her side-saddle, took the little mare’s head between her hands, patted her on the neck, and said, “Minnie, you are a darling, now go to the colored boy, and do not kick him while he is brushing you down.” But, Father grasped the bridle in time to hold and look over the animal, and turning to the young lady asked, “Miss, will you sell your mare?” She replied, “No sir, she is my comfort, and when I am not busy about the tavern we run over the prairie and through the woods, and I often let Minnie chase the deer, She is more fleet than any of them in the open prairie, and she is my playmate.” Then brother John asked, “Please, Miss, is this a tavern where strangers may stay?” She replied, “Yes, my little man, do you and the gentleman wish to stay here?” Brother John replied, “I shot this turkey over in the woods and Father and I want to stay here and have you cook the turkey and put it on your dinner table and let us help you eat it tomorrow.”

She replied, “All right, you nice little sunny-haired boy, you tell your father that you and I will have turkey for dinner tomorrow and we will be pleased to have him take dinner with us, but he must not try to buy Minnie.”

Roast turkey dinner was a success; brother John got the wishbone and while stripping it to dry and wish by, asked the Miss her name. “You may call me Miss Maranda,” she replied.

After dinner the colored boy brought Minnie out for Miss Maranda to take her afternoon ride and she invited brother John to go along with her on his mare Sunday; Father nodded consent, and the two were soon out of sight as they turned a point where the forest reached out an arm of walnut a mile or so distant. This was the first time Father had permitted his boy to be away from him on horseback, and the two were scarcely out of sight when father became unease and called for Frakes and was soon following the prairie grass trail made by Minnie and Sunday.

Riding a mile or two beyond the arm of walnut, Miss Maranda said to brother John, “We must go cautiously and when we reach the border of wood just ahead, we will tether our horses and walk noiselessly through the grove and out through the high grass beyond where we may see what is going on at the deer lick.”

Brother John was all excitement following Miss Maranda through the tall prairie grass as she stepped lightly along a narrow trail printed by deer feet, then they came to a sudden halt as Miss Maranda, pointing ahead, turned and put her fingers on the lips of her companion; and there, snuggled together in the trail just ahead, lay two young fawn asleep. Miss Maranda and brother John were endeavoring to form a plan to capture the pretty spotted creatures when Father broke into their meditations and quickly, but noiselessly, doffing his hunting jacket, stepped stealthily ahead and prostrated himself with his jacket spread over the little deer. They cried like babies and struggled for freedom, and Father, who knew how easily young deer became tamed, had to persuade and do a lot of explaining to Miss Maranda and brother John, who had relented the capture and would have liberated the weeping baby deer, before they would consent to keeping them in hand. The two made Father promise that, if the deer did not become reconciled to stay about the Tavern within one week, they should be brought back and freed at the place of capture.

Father tied the limbs of the fawn so they would not be able to do their captors harm, and, after petting them a few moments to assure them of kink treatment, they became quiet, and, placing them in front of him on the back of Frakes, the little party, with the baby deer, were back at the Tavern in time for Miss Maranda to oversee the evening meal and location of guests.

Brother John and the colored boy had their hands full that evening endeavoring to make friends with the fawn, but before dark the little creatures appeared reconciled to their captors’ friendship and had been induced to suckle a young heifer owned by the colored boy, and the heifer was licking them as if they were her own offspring. That night the boys put the deer in a closed stall for safety from the dogs, and to be sure of their not running away; but the next morning, as the boys opened the door of the stall, the two captives bounded out and away so quickly that the boys could only say that their pets had disappeared in the tall grass. Brother John was almost heart-broken over the loss of his pets, after becoming so friendly with them the evening before; and at breakfast that morning he induced Miss Maranda to promise that they would get on their horses and endeavor to find the run-aways; and the colored boy had brought out Minnie and Sunday, ready to take the trail, when, to their surprise and astonishment, the deer, like two young sprites, came bounding up to and affectionately nosing the boys, as if urging them for their breakfast, and after that the most trouble they had with their pets was to keep them out of the Tavern garden and shoo them away from the kitchen door.

The young heifer was proud of her fleet babies and they followed her about as if she were their own natural dam, except when they were in the garden taking care of the lettuce and corn, or following the folks about expecting dainties.

This was in the Spring and Summer of 1841 when Father and brother John were often at the Black Horse Tavern, which was located at a place now called Lovington, situated about 150 miles south of Chicago, Illinois, and was then in the heart of the prairie wilds, and was dotted about with groves of timber, oak, walnut, hickory, beech, poplar elm and other forest trees, with bushes of hazel, wild cherries, wild plums, blackberry, and with wild grape vines hanging to the trees and wild strawberries clustered in the grass. Wild game, such as turkeys, pigeons, prairie-chickens, grey squirrels, fox squirrels, ducks, geese, and deer were plentiful, and occasionally bear were found waddling about.

The country was sparsely settled, with considerable distances separating the log cabins of homesteaders, and occasionally the clapboard roof of a little log house would protrude itself above the tall prairie grass, to be used as a place of worship on the Sabbath and for school purposes at other times. Such a little log church and schoolhouse was located near the timber line, about a mile west of the Black Horse Tavern; this was a Baptist Church, presided over by a good old Baptist minister by the name of Abraham Keller. (5)

In those days this was on the border of western civilization, and one could stand at the Black Horse tavern and see the sun going to rest at the horizon midst in billows of waving prairie grass; they called it “God’s Country”.

One evening brother John invited Miss Maranda to ride over to the wood where he shot the turkey, and following the springlet up to its source on the mound, he said, “This is where Father and I camped the day I shot the turkey. I have named it Turkey Spring, and I want Father to build a house here and settle on this land where I can ride over and see you every day; I would be so glad; would you be glad too?”

“And you know, Miss Maranda, my father is the best man in the world, but since my dear mother died, he cannot stay anywhere, but we just keep going about. He takes me everywhere, and I love to be with him, and he loves to be with me; but I want Father to get us a home, and I want a mother, a nice sweet mother to talk to me and love me; and I want her to love Father too. I talk to Father like this and he always says, “Well, my boy, when we find a nice place that looks like home and we find a nice lady who would like you for her son, and you would like her for your mother, and one who would like Father like your lovely mother did, then we will build a home for us, and we will sit by the fireside and warm our feet and tell stories and be happy and go to work homemaking again.” What do you think, Miss Maranda?”

But Miss Maranda was weeping and only said, “You are a very nice little boy. No wonder your father is fond of you. I love you, and now we must be going back to our duties.”

On the way back to the Tavern, two deer bounded out of the tall grass and jumped along, pounding the ground with their feet as if bantering for a race; Minnie accepted the challenge and Miss Maranda made no effort to restrain the ambitious little mare who, with ears pointing back, nose straight out in front, nostrils distended, was measuring the sod by swift, steady strokes of her feet, while Miss Maranda sat her side-saddle in pivot-like balance on that superb animal body - it was a sight worth seeing.

Minnie was the victor, then came the two deep leaping the stile and running on into their stable, while Miss Maranda turned to find brother John also at the stile, Sunday all afoam and ready to do it over.

That evening, while father and son were preparing to retire, brother John told Father about his afternoon enjoyment with Miss Maranda, and of their conversation at Turkey Spring, and that Miss Maranda loved him, and he said, “Now, Father, you have told me lots of times that when we could find a nice place that looked like home and a nice lady who would like me for her son, one I would like for my mother, and one who would like you like dear Mother did, we would build a home. Turkey Spring is the place for our home, Miss Maranda is the very lady for my mother, and I am going to tell her so - tomorrow.”

But Father bound brother John over to be silent for the time being; and that night, after going to bed, the two talked for hours about Turkey Spring and home-building, and it was decided that on the morrow they would go over to the spring and plan for a house and for settlement on the land.

The next morning, while the stars still shone, the two were awakened by the Tavern gong, and after taking their buttered hot biscuits, fried Spring chicken with bacon, and sparkling coffee for breakfast, the planners rode over to Turkey Spring and began their survey for settlement and homemaking.

It was a fascinating glorious ride; Father with his little wide awake son leading him to the beginning of a new life, and a new home in one of the most choice spots of earth. Neither comprehended the surge that glowed in and about them as Frakes and Sunday pattered the grass trails with their light feet toward their new home-to-be; but every tree, bush and trail-bend gave enchanted interest to the father and son, and Turkey Spring seemed bubbling from charmed depths as they knelt upon its banks and cupped their hands to drink from its waters.

It was virgin soil, grasses, timber bush and water; no scythe had disturbed its grasses, no plow had broken its sod, no ox gashed its timber, and only transient passerby and wild animals and birds, hand drawn water from the bubbling spring about to be taken possession of by father and son.

Who knows from whence this luxuriant growth of forest and pasture sprang, and who knows the source of the mystic urge that turned the feet of father and son that way, and who can tell what made that little spot look like home to them.

Father was a marksman of note, and brother John could readily send a bullet through the head of a squirrel in the treetop; both had their fowling pieces with them, and wild game was in abundance about them, but neither was inclined to exercise sportsmanship that day. Brother John was studying about a new home and a new mother, and Father was endeavoring to look down into the heart of his boy and wondering if Miss Maranda could spread a mother’s love about him, and at the same time awaken in himself a new love for wife, mother and home. He had noticed that Miss Maranda had about her many features that fitted into his admiration. In her neat riding habit, as she sat on Minnie, she was a young queen of modest dignity; as she presided at the tavern everyone found occasion to give her respectful attention; and there was about her and the words she spoke a religious grace that caused one to longer in meditation upon the soul that anticipated and was always joyful in giving joy to others.

And thus, as Frakes and Sunday sprightly jostled through the high prairie grass, Father was pondering when brother John announced, “Here we are at Turkey Spring.”

That day the two rode over and examined the new tract of land with its timber and prairie parts; and they were charmed by the dash of prairie chickens, as in pretension of being disabled, they fluttered a distance until separated from their nests of eggs or scampering brood then, flying away like a dart of speed; and they were extremely amused by wild turkey hens in their endeavor to lay low on their nests and escape observation as the intruders passed along; and they were tempted by unsuspecting deer as they drank from Turkey Spring streamlet, and scenting human intruders, bounded away like surprised phantoms. And there were grey squirrels and fox squirrels scampering up the trunks and limbs of the trees, and flocks of wild pigeons circling about and alighting at random in this place of life and beauty.

Starting from Turkey Spring near seven o’clock that morning, after criss-crossing the tract until they were satisfied with themselves and the prairie and woodlands they had traversed, they arrived back at the spring just as the sun was passing the meridian, when they were both ready and eager to open the nice new basket in which Miss Maranda had placed something for their dinner. Brother John was accorded the privilege of lifting the wicker cover. On top he found two white napkins, then a thin, almost transparent wood shaving, next two “turn-over” flake crusted strawberry pies, next another wood shaving, then a nicely browned fried chicken, cut in two, then another shaving, on top of which rested four little brown tender-crusted loaves or biscuits, and a sumptuous patty of fresh butter, and on top of another freshly cut clean wood shaving was spread green parsley and crisp radishes.

The two were delighted, and brother John asked, “How could Miss Maranda make such nice clean shavings, almost like glass?” Father explained that Miss Maranda’s father was a cooper who could, with his sharp tools, shave and make from new wood all kinds of wooden ware and that, while Miss Maranda may have plaited the dainty little basket as she could turn and twist any pliable thing into artistic forms and usefulness, her father must have made the broad clean wood shavings by the use of his cooper tools.

They are their dinner in silence, brother John gleefully thinking what a wonderful mother Miss Maranda would be, and Father conjecturing as to how Providence would guide him in the wilderness.

During the afternoon they decided that one hundred paces south from Turkey Spring should be the center of the south boundary line of the homestead, and that they would build a log dwelling house of three or four rooms, thirty paces north of the spring, and a smoke house thirty paces north of the dwelling, and that they would fence in about two acres of land about the spring and houses to be used as a home garden, and that the would settle on the land and commence work at once.

Brother John offered many suggestions of how the improvements should be made and arranged to make the home pleasant and comfortable for Miss Maranda, and Father listened and enjoyed the enthusiasm of his little boy.

That evening, riding back to the Tavern, they were just in time to answer the supper gong. As they entered, Miss Maranda beckoned brother John and he followed her to her room where she tidied him up, combed his curley [sic] hair, kissed him and then placed him next to his father at the table.

From that time Father and brother John were extremely busy in their work on their proposed homestead, returning each evening to the Tavern, which brother John considered their home until they should have their own home completed at Turkey Spring.

Father and several men he had employed were working at the homestead cutting, and by means of ox teams, dragging logs out of the forest, and then with their axes, broad-axes and adzes, hewing the logs square to be placed in and form the walls and partitions in the dwelling house they were endeavoring to have finished, and the fireplace glowing, before snow fall.

Brother John was on the ground daily making suggestions to Father and his workmen who immensely enjoyed his presence and earnest interest, especially when he picked out logs he considered of proper dimensions and length to be left by the loggers at the place he had chosen for a stable for Frakes, Sunday and Bundles, and for an additional purpose he did not divulge.

He always rode back to the tavern for dinner and stayed there a couple of hours each day, endeavoring to make himself useful to Miss Maranda. He particularly enjoyed watching her in her work with her pretty, clean nimble fingers; he loved their soft smooth touch on his cheek, and he endeavored to anticipate her next duty, wondering if he could give her relief; and she solved the sweet, earnest love of the boy as it came to her own soul like a message from the Diety, and she supplied him with pleasant duties that caused him to feel needed and useful.

Miss Maranda was never idle; when the Tavern responsibility did not require her attention, she busied herself by the use of needles, threads, cloth and linen in making varied and beautiful designs; brother John called them needle pictures of pea-fowl, turkeys, chickens, birds, and animals; and she was extraordinarily adept in making patchwork quilts.

I now have (in 1931) one of those quilts, nearly as clean, fresh and nice as it left her blessed fingers in 1857, when she was away out in the Rocky Mountain wilds with meager material to use; but she made it so wonderfully beautiful that you would know it to be a relic from artistic hands.

But, notwithstanding her busy life, she found time each day to spend an hour or more with Minnie under her pretty side-saddle; and Miss Maranda said, “An hour upon the back on Minnie, cavorting over the prairie and through the wild woodland, and to see the game dashing from under cover when disturbed in their quietude mid grassy plain or silent thicket bower, is like a dream of nature’s life fountain, adding joy wings to one’s life.”

One Saturday Miss Maranda notified brother John that she was going to take Minnie and be away from early morning until late evening and spend the Sabbath out in the woods, glades and plains of nature, and she would be pleased to have him accompany her on Sunday, if his father should be willing. That night Father and son talked long after they had retired, and Father consented by saying, “Yes, you may go with Miss Maranda and by her Sunday boy.”

As soon as the eastern horizon began looming, brother John was up and out to be sure that Bob (the colored boy) should have the horses ready; and while the stars were still twinkling, Minnie and Sunday were cantering along the deer trails, and they and their riders were enjoying the freshness early found, but which always recedes before the morning sunbeams. It was a glorious day for the two, Miss Maranda twenty three and brother John, seven. She might have been, and in reality seemed, in tender attention his mother, and there was a divinge [sic divine] tie then existing between them that continued and increased as the boy’s voice spun its music from contralto to bass, and lived on in their souls as each leaped the border between the life we know and the life we wish for “over there”.

What a world of wealth comes to those whose hearts are satisfied by the response of love, and on that day, when Miss Maranda spread a clean white linen over the fresh green moss, and took from her dainty basket lunch fit for a queen and prince, and the two sat upon a fallen tree trunk by a spring of clear fresh water at the edge of the moss. [They] partook of their menu, and Minnie and Sunday, tethered nearby, tethered nearby, impatiently champing their briddle [sic bridle] bits or perked their ears as they listened to the breading [sic breeding] of silence in the forest quietude. And [as] the birds chirped, and the squirrels scampered, and the sunlight shimmered through the branches of the trees, there was glory in the atmosphere as Miss Miranda, addressing brother John said, My dear boy, I feel so happy here with you in this faraway sacred spot where everything seems resting in freedom, just as it came from the hand of God, that we will keen and thank Him for bringing us together and giving to us this splendid day of peace and joy.” And the two, the fair boy with rippling sunny hair, and the maiden with raven ringlets, knelt by the surging spring. And Miss Maranda, in gratitude, spoke from her soul to God and gave thanks for His gifts of that day, and brother John threw his arms about her and kissed her many times and said, “Miss Maranda, I love you, and last night Father told me that I might be your Sunday boy. Now, I am going to ask him to let me be your boy every day. My dear mother loved me, and she used to pray just like you do. You are sweet and good just like she was, and I want you to be my mother, and I will be the best little son in the world for you.”

That was a happy lunch time, and a day and an event of which the two always spoke in reverence.

After lunch the two strolled in the woods and watched the birds and squirrels with their bead-like eyes and swift movements. [They] examined the wild flowers, and picked and filled their empty lunch basket with blackberries -- the two -- all the while speaking from soul to soul, not always in audible words, but by the light of their eyes and by waves of affection more refined than we have yet coined words to express.

On their return to the Tavern, they went around by way of Turkey Spring, and brother John explained to Miss Maranda what he and Father were doing, and planning to do. He showed her where the new house and smokehouse and stables were to be erected, and guided her over the tract of two acres they were contemplating for the garden patch. [He] drew her attention to pegs he had driven in the ground designating the place where the front gate should be, and then he confided to her that the five stakes he had driven in the ground adjoining the stables on the south marked the place where the chicken coop would be located. Miss Maranda could understand the four corner stakes, but she was puzzled over the fifth or center stake, until brother John explained to her that he was planning to have a mound in the center where the rooster could stand and crow from; and he said, “I have not told Father about the chickens, but thought that when everything should be finished, you and I would take the chickens over and surprise him. Father asked me what I was driving the five stakes for, and I told him it was a secret, and he laughed, and you know when Father is pleased, he stammers a little, and he said to me, ‘G-good boy, w-we are going to have good times on this homestead and you and I w-will go h-halves all the way.’ Now I do not know what Father meant by going halves all the way, but I know it was good, whatever it might be.”

Miss Maranda was serious, and while she was much interested in the plans of the little boy, she made no reply, except to say, “John, you are a great boy. No wonder your father is fascinated by you; and now we must mount and go home.”

That night, after the lights were out and all was quiet in the Tavern, Miss Maranda sat out under a great Elm tree midway between the Tavern and the yards occupied by Minnie and Sunday, and wondered about the little boy with sunny ripples of hair, and his earnest, affectionate demeanor, and she found that there was in her soul a tender inexplicable yearning to have him near her. Who can understand the stream that carries love between two hearts and what causes it to flow both ways.

Father was very busy about the homestead and permitted his little son to linger at the Tavern, or as he might desire, ride over to Turkey Spring and make plans and busy himself by making suggestions to the workmen.

Brother John was always pleased when Miss Maranda would give him something to do , and he gradually assumed many duties that gave her relief and pleasure, such as seeing that the colored boy gave Minnie and Sunday proper attention; and that he drove the cows to the pasture in good time in the morning and brought them back in the evening; and seeing that there should be flowers on the mantels and tables; and that Bob should not overlook having watermelons cooled for meal times. And brother John assumed these duties with such pomp, earnestness and responsibility that Miss Maranda felt obligated to give him recompense, and she said to him, “My little sunny heart, you go right on working with me and next Spring I will give you the best rooster, and the best six hens in our flock, and the best heifer calf in the herd.”

Brother John meditated and replied, “I want to go on working for you, Miss Maranda, and I do not want any pay, but if you will let me have the rooster and chickens and the heifer, and will go with me over to our house when it is finished at Turkey Spring and be my mother, we will take the flock and the heifer and Minnie and Sunday and we will be right at home together.”

“But you know,” replied Miss Maranda, “the house will belong to your father.”

“I know,” replied her little boy friend, “Father is building the house, but he told me that we would go halves, and I will give to you my share of the house.”

Miss Maranda laughed until the tears were flowing down her cheeks, when she observed that brother John seemed offended; then she caressingly took him in her arms and said, “By next Springtime you will have earned the flock and the heifer; we will take good care of them at the Tavern until then, and they shall be yours just as soon as you pick them out and are ready on the homestead to take them.”

During the next week Miss Maranda arranged duties for brother John to be on the outside most of the time, and gave him little opportunity to watch her ply her miracle needles; and Saturday when he tapped at her chamber door, she kept him in wait before admitting him, and then told him that she was preparing to go to church in the morning, and to be sure to see that Minnie and Sunday should be neatly groomed, with saddles and bridles cleaned shining bright, ready to leave the stile at eight o’clock, so that they could ride leisurely to church and attend services at ten o’clock.

Brother John was delighted, and the next morning before sunrise he and Bob and Minnie and Sunday all saddled and bridled in their bright shiny attire, standing at the stile pawing with their feet and impatiently shaking their heads, ready to have their reins loosed from the hitching posts, when brother John went to so inform Miss Maranda. Modestly tapping for entrance, she admitted him to her fairy room, and there, displayed over the back of a chair, was the boy’s new riding suit distinguished by bright brass buttons down the front of the jacket, three buttons on each cuff-bank, fringed riding pants, new red-topped boots and a near cap, all just to fit the little boy whose heart was throbbing for a mother, and in fact a suit that quite harmonized with the light brown, long skirt riding habit worn by Miss Maranda as she sat upon the back of Minnie.

After brother John had calmed sufficiently from his dancing mirth to permit a change of suits, and Miss Maranda had fastened the last shiny button of his jacket, and had stood him across the room and viewed him by wistful blue-eyed love, she held out her open arms and the boy bounded to them and kissed, thanked and blessed her in a devotion inspired only from the depths of that fountain from which we dip the genuine joys of life.

On the way to church brother John was enthusiastic to know all about his new suit and Miss Maranda confessed to him that she had made it to march her own riding habit, so that when they rode out together they would look like sweethearts.

The service was conducted by Reverend Abraham Keller, a minister of the Baptist Church, a nice elderly gentleman whose words were modest, fatherly and encouraging. (6) At the close of the service, he approached Miss Maranda and her boy companion, shook hands with them, and enquired where the good land and her nice little son came from. This pleased brother John very much and he would have made full explanations had Miss Maranda not firmly pressed his hand for silence.

Father stayed at the homestead Saturday night and had not seen his little son in his new riding suit. But Sunday evening, as the two church-goers returned, they found him waiting at the Tavern stile where he hastened to assist Miss Maranda alight; said not a word, but kissed and admired the lovely hand he was holding, and as it was gently withdrawn, he took in his arms his happy little boy and stifled sobs urging escape.

Miss Maranda swiftly walked away and was soon in her dining room frock making ready the evening meal. Father and son sat on the stile where the little joy-boy, with animation and delight, his eyes sparkling, eagerly gave Father a full account of the church service and of his surprise and happiness over his new riding suit, but he said not a word of the secret between him and Miss Maranda as to the clock of chickens and the heifer, though it was hard keeping.

Father was then 34 and Miss Maranda 23, and he conceived that the opening between their years made it inappropriate for them to be more than dignified friendship would approve; but as he observed his little son gleefully nestling about and obeying every gesture of the young land, he found himself happily appreciating her tender response, and there came over him a rare feeling of home and comfort.

That Sunday evening, and the next morning, and for several days thereafter, Father endeavored to meet and thank Miss Maranda for her kindness to his little son, but she was so occupied in her Tavern duties that he was unable to gain her attention.

Every afternoon Miss Maranda and brother John continued their horseback rides out into the open spaces and through charms of woodland groves where they would often linger to examine and admire spots of beauty; and after the foliage of the oak, maple, hickory and sumac had taken on their glory of frost garbs, the two comrades made many trips in their clean pressed riding costumes, and on the lithe cavorting forms of Minnie and Sunday to mingle and be in the shimmer of autumn display, and to gather beautiful leaves for pressing, and sprays and branches for home decorations; and many times, upon their return to the Tavern, the two comrades and their steeds would be completely dressed in such leaves, sprays and branches to show autumn gladness. And the companionship of the two became so tenderly interwoven that it could only be severed by tearing out the web and woof of their souls.

During the summer and autumn months Father had been constantly at his homestead, except an occasional few hours when he would ride over to the Tavern to see his boy and consider his growing interest in Miss Maranda who seemed stepping into, and taking away from him, a solemn world he had considered his own, or maybe bringing luxuriance to his world of faded beauty.

He and his workmen had broken, fenced and put in good condition for spring planting the two acres of land he and brother John had selected for the family garden spot; and they had cut, hewn and drawn out of the forest the logs necessary to be used in the building of the houses and stables they had planned and contemplated to have completed before winter. But it was now the later part of November 1841, which that year drew intense freezing and bountiful snowflakes -- harbingers of real winter, which disrupted his building plans and also closed the gay horseback riding season for Miss Maranda and her entertaining companion, which seemed to them a calamity.

But while Minnie missed and neighed for her saddle mistress, Frakes and Sunday put on sleighbells that jingles over the crisp snow and made the step out of Autumn dress into Winter robes a miracle which put father, son, and Miss Maranda together in a glory-cushioned sleigh seat.

It happened this way: One frost-snappy morning, a few days after the early snowstorm, Miss Maranda and brother John stood at a window of the Tavern looking out over the white plain, a little mournful about the abrupt manner in which their leaf-carpeted riding grounds and forest paths had been buried under the cold snow, when they were startled by the faint chime of bells in the distance. Nearer and nearer came jingle, jingle, jingle of glee bells, and then came abreast to phantom-like horses scuffing frost spangles by their swift moving feet, and stopping at the Tavern stile, a familiar neigh came from one of the horses, when brother John shouted, “That is Sunday!” and almost dragged Miss Maranda, they were outside in time to see Father step out of a new jet-black swan-neck, red runner sleigh, hitched to Frakes and Sunday, fully dressed in bands of silver bells and a brand new brass buckled harness, and ready with shifting feet and quivering muscles to glide away over the new white icy roads of mystery.

I do not know any entertainment more fascinating than being in a clean cushioned sleigh, drawn by a pair of well-groomed supple bodied animated horses, well-harnessed and shod with bright sharp shoes, making time of their powerful movement as they strike the ice or snow with their propelling feet, and going like a flash of energy out of space, carrying by straight quivering reins, a nice little cutter with a sweetheart and her beaux, muffled for comfort on the seat.

And so, those who love horses, sweethearts and little boys, know the exhilaration imparted to that little trio ad Frakes and Sunday champed their bridle-bits, pushed out their noses, distended their nostrils, and with their sharp-shod feet, pawed the frozen snow, begging to go; and then, when the tree were seated in the cutter, and reins given, darted away playing snowball with their feet.

I have a very warm place in my heart for Frakes and Sunday, and I am inclined to believe that horses have souls, and will enjoy everlasting life along with man. Why should they not? I expect to meet “on the other side” some very fine horses I have owned. No money could have purchased them from me; they were mine when their mortal bodies vanished; I loved and understood them, and they loved and understood me. Our hearts beat together, both in joys and fears; they gave to me, save the devotion of human hearts, the finest love and service that could be given by mortal life. I love to think of them, and to anticipate their love and friendship when we may speak the language and enjoy the sublimity that thrills and moves the whole universe in harmonious understanding.

Father, Miss Maranda and brother John always liked horses and sleigh-riding; and upon this occasion with their hearts beating time to the muses, and a new sleigh, like a moving throne to sit in, and a pair of roadsters as splendid as horses ever grew, all afire to skim pearls of glistening snow with their feet, and miles and miles of level prairie lands as far ahead as one could see, all covered with snow, settled down to ice over the prairie grass, the three sat entranced as they listened to the sleigh runners scalloping ice foam, watched the swift measured tread of Frakes and Sunday, looked at log cabins and other objects which seemed passing instead of being passed by, and marveled as to the joy of the present and of the grandeur in homes love.

Brother John was the first one to speak, “It is wonderful to see Frakes and Sunday stepping just alike in harness, going so smooth and swift, almost flying, just touching the snow with their feet, and swinging their strong legs like waving wings sweeping the snow under our sleigh. Miss Maranda told me about a great man, a long time ago, who went to heaven on something that was pulled by horses of fire, but I think Frakes and Sunday could pass them, don’t you?”

Father turned to Miss Maranda and asked, “What about those horses of fire?” Miss Maranda replied, “Well, you see, I told John what the Holy Bible says about Elijah, the great prophet in olden times who was taken up to Heaven in a chariot of fire drawn by horses of fire. He was very much interested in my recital, and the pretty show made by Frakes and Sunday as they flash over this bright sheen of snow and sun glimmers, reminds him of it.” Then Miss Maranda turned to brother John and said, “My nice little questioner, we do not know just what that story means about the horses of fire and chariot of fire by which the prophet Elijah was taken away from the world and carried to heaven; we must think that over, and study about it; but I do not think there is, in the world, another pair of roadsters as splendid and fleet as Frakes and Sunday. We must love this wonderful pair of horse sisters as we watch them swinging their feet so easily and rapidly, and admire their beautiful bodies so trim and graceful as they stretch out in powerful movement, seemingly just to please us, as Father talks to them, saying, ‘Now Frakes, steady my lady’; watch her put out her nose and pull her pretty feet up under her with a little stronger, more steady movement; and then see Sunday when Father sharply says, ‘Sunday, you little loafer’ -- watch her spring forward like she would show Frakes equality. Say, John, your father is a wonderful horseman. He knows how to talk love to his horses and they love to obey his words.”

Brother John was silent for a moment, and then said, “Miss Maranda, I wish Father would talk love to you. I am sure you would love him too.” Then, in surprised exclamation, he shouted, “Here are our pet deer, they think they can beat us home. Let the horses go, Father!” And Father had his hands full as Frakes and Sunday caught the spirit and bounded forward like two winter race queens, not to be outdistanced by mortal feet; here they were, four abreast, first the two deer, bounding and striking the icy ground cover with their sharp chisel hoofs, scattering ice spangles to spatter the horses, and then increasing speed by swift swing of their feet under their lithe steady bodies, and with nostrils aflair and eyes blazing, they seemed phantoms of flight. And Frakes and Sunday, beautiful, powerful and swift, measuring the icy cover and pulling it under them as the bright new sleigh, laden with life and mirth skimmed and swooped over the home stretch of two miles to the Black Horse Tavern.

The deer were their own masters in the open wide snow-covered prairie, abreast with their friends of the horses and cutter. They had, once before, in the past summertime, when they were only in fawnhood, raced this course through the waving grass with Minnie and Sunday under the saddles of Miss Maranda and John, when Minnie was the victor; but they were now grown nearly to superb deerhood, with the blood of their fleet footed race surging for supremacy of speed over the grounds of their ancestors, and they sniffed the fresh air and banteringly pounded their light feet on the icy surface for “a showdown” of flight toward their night home at the Tavern.

Father sat in earnest control of every movement of those wonderful roadsters as they swept over the icy pain, carrying the cutter by the reins fluttering like gleams of guidance in the hands of a master on his throne, as the cutter swerved to the right, then to the left, then flashing up and dropping down midst the ice spangles spattering from the dash of speeding feet and the cutting and scalloping of the bright steel sleigh runners. There was real exhilarated joy for man, woman, boy, horses and deer; all friends and lovers, with glory of speed for the goal.

First, the deer took the lead, mistily fleeing like brown-gray balls of eiderdown blown by the wind, then Father would say, “Sunday, step lively,” and response came quickly until Frakes and Sunday were spinning sunshine between the racers; then Father would say, ever so gently, “Steady, Frakes,” and the deer leapt to the fore again; and so this unusual test of speed between friends in the heart of nature was balanced by the language Father used in speaking to his friends, the horses, how, hearing his next earnest call, “NOW, Lady Birds, AWAY,” sprang forward, when horses, cutter and sweethearts swept like a dazzling mist past the Black Horse Tavern, as the deer leapt the stile, shook their pretty heads and pantingly [sic] trotted to their rest quarters under the shed.

It has been a wonderful day for the three human hearts beating time to their emotions as they glided about over this great open ice-covered Illinois prairie, drawn by the best, most fleet and eager servants that ever loved to obey the voice of man. Frakes and Sunday seemed to have taken equal joy with their masters as they gracefully made the turn coming back to the Tavern stile and merrily played with their silver bridle-bits while being loosed from their race toggles.

Had brother John not been sitting between Father and Miss Maranda, and had he not kept her busy in answering his questions and in telling her his plans about Turkey Spring homestead, Father might have given expression to the scenes he was viewing upon the soul screen as they dashed so swiftly and smoothly over the gloss-covered land of “God’s Country”; for he was so entranced that when he took Miss Maranda by the hand to aid her in stepping from the cutter, he kissed her in loving tenderness and said, “Miss Maranda, I am ten years your senior, and I sense my selfishness in saying that if you can overlook the lapse of time between the days of our birth, and give to me and my little son your sweet love, we will by heavenly happy to give our lives to you.”

Miss Maranda was too surprised to speak, but brother John came to the rescue by saying, “And now Miss Maranda, you are really going to be my blessed mother. I love you, my sweet mother, but I shall never forget Miss Maranda as we rode so nicely together over the prairie and through the woods upon the backs of Minnie and Sunday.” And the warm lips of the two came together as Father stood to aid Miss Maranda over the Tavern stile.

Father had been entirely devoted in his companionship to the mother of brother John, and, after she had gone to the mystic world, he looked upon her splendid little son and visioned his lovely mother as always being present. But as he saw that sunny souled little boy and Miss Maranda so contentedly enjoying their world companionship, the world grew . . .

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TO BE CONTINUED - A WORK IN PROGRESS . . . This is the end of this narrative in my possession. It is incomplete, but I have not been able to find the rest (not on Cazier.org or their DVD - CR).

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(1) Most of the original spelling, punctuation and grammar are that of the original author. Only minimal changes were made for purposes of clarification. Lengthy sentences and the language of the day and times were kept whenever possible.

(2) Richard J. Oglesby (1824-1899) married #1 Anna E. White in 1859; and then #2 Emma Gillett in 1873. He had a total of nine children with both wives. His first wife, Anna, died in 1868, so the wife mentioned here would have been #2, Emma Gillett.

(3) Before Richard J. Oglesby became the Governor of Illinois, he was an attorney. He served as the attorney in a court case in behalf of the William Cazier family. The Cazier family had recently converted to the Mormon church faith and were being persecuted by the mobs and other people of Moultrie County, Illinois.

For more information on his life, refer to “Richard J. Oglesby” and “The Keller Family”, p. 6, at *********************.

To quote from, History of Macon Co., Illinois: With Illustrations Descriptive of its Scenery, and Biographical Sketches of Some of its Prominent Men and Pioneers, pub. Brink, McDonough & Company, 1880.

“Being at Washington when that awful national calamity, the assassination of President Lincoln occurred, it was Gov. Oglesby’s painful privilege to be present at the bedside of his beloved friend, within an hour after the fatal shot was given; he watched over him until the end, and saw him yield up his noble life in the cause of the country he loved and served so well. Afterward he remained close beside the precious remains, following in the mournful journey back to Illinois, until they were placed in the silent tomb amid the lamentations of a great nation.”

(4) To add perspective, Maranda Cazier would have been about 22 years old; Charles Hinkle Bryan about 33; and John Henry Bryan, age 6 years. Also, father William Cazier about, age 56 and mother Pleasant Drake Cazier, 43 years.

(5) Even though the Cazier family were at this point members of the Baptist faith, they had previously belonged to the Christian Church which was also known as the Campbellite Church. Though very similar to Mormonism in many ways, the Campbellite Church adhered strictly to the teachings of the Old and New Testaments. Other names of the area who associated with the William Cazier family, and who belonged to the same church were the Loves, Hostetlers, Southers, Snyders, Bests, etc., a group totaling about forty individuals in 1840, and growing to around 160 members within the next ten years. For more information see "History of Shelby and Moultrie Counties, Illinois, 1881," at *********************************************** . See also “The Kellar Family”, at *********************.

(6) See footnote number 5.